


honey, make me healthy

by SlabMeatPunch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlabMeatPunch/pseuds/SlabMeatPunch
Summary: Jon's sick and also very good at refusing help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this when I was sick and felt miserable and have no idea where its going so lets see!

Martin was surprised, to say the least, when he came in to work to find a bundle of duvet where there was supposed to be an archivist. Jon’s desk was cluttered with papers and multiple tape recorders, one of which was clasped in a hand extended from the mass of blanket. The only other part of Jon visible was a tuft of hair peeking out, telling Martin that the form that would be Jon was laid face down on his desk asleep. 

He tried to stop the laugh that bubbled up in his chest but was unsuccessful in his attempts and just after he felt he had calmed down a small groan came from the covered figure. The tuft of hair shifted and came up off the desk. Two eyes followed the hair out of the blanket and blinked blearily, not quite focusing.

“Martin?” Jon brought his hands up to rub at his eyes, still holding the recorder. He gave a dry laugh and put the player back on his desk, then moved to riffle through all the statements on his desk looking for his glasses. 

Martin couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he watched the archivist, “They’re on your head.”

“Martin. You should go home, I’ve already sent Tim and Basira out,” he picked up the statement nearest to him and glances over it, “enjoy your day off.”

Martin spent a moment assessing the damage Jon had done to the previous organization of the desk. There were several mugs half filled with tea and statements strewn about, threatening in several places to fall onto the floor.

“Jon,” Martin hesitated, unsure about how to move forward, “are you… sick?”

The archivist scoffed and looked affronted, “I am not sick,” he sniffled and rubbed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, “I am temporarily indisposed, and I believe it would be best for everyone if I was left alone until I am no longer contagious.”

Martin walked over to the desk and started stacking statements back into piles, “no.”

Jon looked up from his statement confused, “excuse me?”

When the statements were stacked Martin moved onto the mugs, consolidating liquid and stacking them in his arms, “I said no. I’m gonna help you with whatever work you want to get done today,” he walked over to the door slowly, careful not to spill any of the full mugs, “But first I’m going to put the kettle on and you’re going to lay down.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware but being in a coma for six months doesn’t come with its own cot when you return to your job.”

Martin’s eyes scrunched up and he laughed, “you can use mine.”

Jon stared wide eyed and Martin’s smile fell, “or you could use Tim’s! I didn’t mean you had to use mine,” he was tripping over his words now.

“Martin.”

“You could also sleep on the floor but I don’t think-”

“Martin! Martin it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting… never mind.”

Martin smiled softly at him, “I’m gonna put these mugs in the sink and put on the kettle, why don’t you come and sit at the table while you wait.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

~~~

“So,” Martin turned to Jon after setting all the mugs on the counter, “what kind of tea do you like? We have, uh, earl grey, english breakfast, peppermint, sleepytime. I got that when I was camped out here hiding from Prentiss. I didn’t exactly work like I hoped, still had nightmares and the like. But you’re not hiding from some worm god now are you?” he chuckled a bit and ducked his head, scratching at the back of his neck.

Jon gave him a tired smile, “I’ll take peppermint, thanks Martin.”

“Sugar? Cream?”

Jon's face scrunched in disgust, “God no.”

Martin nodded and brought the mug to Jon, “you sit here and drink this, I’ll go make up the bed.”

Jon hummed and nodded and then Martin left the room. 

The heat from the mug warmed his fingers, reminding him of just how cold he had been. He set the mug down and pulled the comforter back around him. Leaning over he let the smell of peppermint come over him before grabbing the statement he had hidden in the blanket before Martin dragged him out of his office. He picked up the mug again and taking a sip, making sure not to burn himself, and started to read.

After a couple of minutes he heard Martin yell down the hall at him, “Jon? Jon, are you wearing my duvet?”

He heard Martin’s footsteps coming back towards the kitchen and put his head down on the table bringing the blanket over him, hiding the statement again.

The knock on the door frame made him look up at Martin, "did you hear me, Jon?"

"What was that?"

"Are you wearing my duvet?"

Jon looked down at his tea, "I was cold. It was cold," he looked up, seeing Martin's soft smile again.

"Let's get you into bed. Besides that comforter it's all made up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah yeah this is like weeks late but in my defense I started college so like I get a break

Martin sat down on the floor next to where Jon lay, “Would you like a bedtime story?”

Jon threw his arm over his face, “just lights off should be fine, thank you Martin.”

“Not even the statement you’ve hidden in the blankets with you?” humour danced behind Martin’s eyes.

Martin was teasing him, holding back a laugh. Jon moved his arm narrowed his eyes, “how did you know about that?”

“It crinkled when you laid down, it was hard to ignore. And of all the things you’d try to sneak into bed with you, I think that’d be most likely,” he did laugh this time, and Jon joined in. His dry chuckle quickly deteriorated into coughs that wracked his whole body until there were tears in his eyes. 

“Oh God!” Martin wrapped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position, “sit up, it’ll help with the congestion,” he held Jon up as he coughed, “my lord you’re sick, let me get you your tea.”

Jonathan quickly shook his head, “Don’t bother, it’s probably cold by now anyways. Or worse, lukewarm.”

“Are you sure? You sound like you’ve smoked two packs a day for fifty years and you’re only, what, thirty-five? It would help your throat,” Martin moved to stand up but Jon grabbed on to the arm that wasn’t being used to support him.

“I’ve had enough tea. If it were going to do me any good it would have already,” he shrugged Martin’s arm off his shoulders. He laid back down, moving his grip from one of Martin’s wrists to the other, “so."

"So?"

"Why are you helping me, Martin? Tim, Sasha, Basira, everyone took their day off. Why didn't you?"

Martin scoffed and raised an eyebrow at Jon, "I knew you weren't going to take care of yourself. Hell, I found you asleep at your desk still recording," he looked at the archivist for a while, "everyone deserves someone to care for them."

Jon closed his eyes and listened to Martin's breathing. The silence was comforting, but so was the company. He couldn't remember the last time someone had stayed by his side when he was sick. It felt disconcerting, in a way. Different but not bad.

He peeked at Martin through his eyelids. The man was smiling to himself, eyes closed and head leaned back. He was rocking back and forth a little bit, apparently unable to sit still. 

No, not bad at all, he thought to himself.

~~~

Jon was woken up by a soft nudge on his shoulder, “Jon, I need to check your temperature,” Martin was sitting on the floor next to him again holding another cup of steaming tea, “I made more tea, as well, just in case."

"Do we even have a thermometer in the institute? How are you planning on checking my temperature?"

"I picked up a couple of ways to check from my mum," he moved to kneeling and reached his hand towards Jon's forehead.

Martin rested his fingers against Jon's forehead and Jon closed his eyes. The cool of Martin's fingers felt nice and he let out a small sigh 

Martin moved his hand down to rest against Jon's neck, "you do feel warm," he moved again and held Jon's hand in both of his own. Resting Jon's palm on one of his own he used his other hand to pinch at the skin on Jon's knuckles.

"You're dehydrated as well, I'm going to get you some plain water," Jon nodded and watched Martin leave. 

His fingers drifted to his neck and he felt where Martin had touched him. The touch had been so gentle. Everything Martin had done for him had been gentle and none of it made sense. Jon couldn’t wrap his mind around what Martin could get out of helping him. 

He picked up the mug that Martin had brought him and thought about how he had gotten here. In the institute. In the archives. In Martin’s bed. He laughed at that. There had been so much mess, so much pain and suffering. There still was so much weighing on Jon. And yet in this moment all he could think about was Martin.

‘Everyone deserves someone to love them,’ he kept turning those words over in his head trying to make sense of it. Martin had said it quietly, like he wanted to keep it a secret. Even with Jon being what he is… what he’s becoming.

Before he could think any longer about it Martin was back with a glass of water and a smile, “here you go. Sorry I took so long, all the cups down here are dirty so I went to the kitchen upstairs. When I was filling the cup I saw a dog out the window and I really wanted to go out and pet it. I mean I really wanted to. But I took some pictures instead.”

Martin handed Jon the cup of water to Jon and scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket. His wallpaper was a selfie of him smiling with a golden retriever right next to his face. It was quickly replaced by a blurry picture of a black and gold dog on the street. 

“That’s a hovawart!” Jon watched Martin’s eyes light up as he rambled but didn’t catch a word that he said. He couldn’t stop all the thoughts running through his head but for now he could relax and let Martin do all the talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who else feels personally victimized by MAG 154? anyone?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I took my two latest short chapters and combined them into one actually chapter length chapters. Sorry about this but it was seriously bugging me. Seriously.

“Do you have any animals?” Martin looked at Jon expectantly, apparently done talking about the dog he saw earlier.

“No. I mean, my ex, she had a cat. I think he loved me more than she did to be honest,” he laughed and pulled out his phone, “I should have a picture of him on here somewhere. What about you?”

Martin immediately broke out in a grin, “I have a retriever. You probably saw them earlier, they’re my lock screen. Their name is Charlie and they’ve grown so much from when I first got them,” he turned his phone screen back on again and showed it to Jon. 

Martin’s face was radiating joy and slightly wet where the dog must have licked him. Charlie looked just as happy as their owner and was leaning their full weight against Martin.

“I should have a picture of Charlie as a baby on here as well,” he pulled his phone back and opened his gallery.

Jon laughed and turned his phone screen so Martin could see it, “Georgie must have taken this when I was, well,” he laughed at the photo again. He had found a picture of himself asleep on Georgie’s couch with The Admiral perfectly content with sleeping on his face, “when I was otherwise occupied.”

Martin was overtaken by laughter as well. The ginger cat sat on Jon’s head like it was exactly where he belonged, looking at the camera like he was daring Georgie to try to move him.

“He does look quite taken with you, I’ll admit.”

Jon grimaced, “one of The Admiral’s favorite past times is showing me his ass,” he laughed, “Georgie found it hilarious, obviously”

“Do you ever miss it?” Martin’s voice was soft. He sounded hesitant and was looking at him intently like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Georgie? No, not really,” he looked back at his phone, “I probably miss The Admiral a bit more.”

“I meant the simplicity of it. The domesticity of a relationship in a time we weren’t plagued by fear entities trying to kill us.”

“It’s hard to even remember a time like that now. Maybe I do,” Jon looked at Martin. His fingers were running along his arms, across the circular scars that sat there as a reminder of what they had gone through, and Jon felt like he had to apologize, “ I wouldn’t go back, though.”

“Me neither.”

~~~

Martin was instantly awoken when Jon started gasping for air. His knuckles were white from gripping tightly on the sheets, pulling them off of the mattress and tangling them around his fists. The sound of his struggled breathing caused a sudden panic in Martin and he was immediately sitting on the cot next to him. 

Jon bolted upright closely missing hitting his head against Martin’s but his eyes weren't open. Martin rested his hands on Jon’s shoulders trying to ground himself and steady both of their breathing.

He watched as Jon’s eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids, seeing things that Martin couldn’t save him from. His hands went to Jon’s cheeks, fingers resting gently on his neck and he pulled Jon’s forehead to meet his own. His skin was hot against Martin’s and felt wet with sweat, “Jon,” he ran his thumbs across his cheeks, “Jon, I need you to wake up.”

He couldn’t let himself panic, this wasn’t the time nor the place for him to let his emotions get the better of him but seeing Jon in this state filled Martin up with a fear he wasn’t ready to face. He held onto Jon’s face and started rocking them back and forth, hoping movement might wake Jon up.

When Jon’s eyes opened they were unfocused, darting around the room looking for something that wasn’t there. His hands came to his cheeks trying to pull Martin’s fingers away from his skin like they were burning his skin.

“Jon, I need you to focus on me, okay? You’re safe. Listen to me,” Martin didn’t flinch away when Jon’s eyes met his own. Jon’s green eyes were full of fear, and Martin’s throat felt tight looking at him. He wished he could see what Jon was so afraid of, “Look at me and tell me what you see.”

And Jon looked at him. And he kept looking. Brown eyes reflected in green ones and Jon relaxed into Martin’s touch. His breathing slowed, matching his inhales and exhales with Martin.

“What do you see, Jon?”

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again and answering, “you.” 

Martin let out a shaky breath and let his head fall onto Jon’s shoulder, “You had me so worried. I couldn’t wake you up and you kept struggling for air. You weren’t waking up and I kept thinking ‘what if he falls into a coma again?’”

It suddenly felt hard to breath again and Jon felt his hands start to shake. The dream was gone, he told himself, so why was he still struggling for air? He slowly lifted one hand up, looking at his trembling fingers like they could provide answers. He hesitated before letting it settle in Martin’s hair, slowly running his fingers through the curls.

“I’m not going to leave again.”

Martin let out a dry laugh and raised his head off Jon’s shoulder, eyes focused on his hands folded in his lap, “You're not gonna leave again? Did you say that before climbing into a haunted coffin as well? I don’t know if I can trust ‘I’m not going to leave again’ right now Jonathan,” his shoulders start to shake, “you can’t leave again. You can’t,”

His vision was blurry when Jon grabbed his jaw and pulled his eyes away from his hands. Martin blinked and felt the tears start to fall down his cheeks, but before he could bring his fists up to rub at the tears he felt Jon’s fingers gently brush them away. 

“Martin,” Jon’s palms rested on wet cheeks, holding Martin’s face with the same tenderness he had been shown earlier, “I am not going to leave again. Not until I know everyone is safe. Not until I know…”

Not until I know you are safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Nothing new here but I am working on the finale! I'm also a depressed bastard so I don't know when it will be published.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its the end! its also past midnight and MAG 160 broke my heart.

When their lips met it was salty and awkward. Martin was pressing his lips firmly against Jon’s, hands grasping at Jon’s wrists, fingers flitting acrost the scars that littered his skin. Gentle touches traced burn marks and perfect circles that marked Jon as a survivor, marked him as alive.

Jon’s fingers tightened on Martin’s cheeks and he held firmly onto the man in front of him. He felt his own eyes fill with tears, so he shut them and focussed on feeling warm lips against his own. He felt the first tear fall from his eye but ignored it, knowing that right now he was safe being held by Martin.

Martin pulled back and smiled at him, dark eyes looking at him with all the adoration Jon could handle. His soul was on display when he looked at Jon, and it glowed so brightly, full of kindness and love all directed at him.

Jon suddenly felt overwhelmed. All of Martin’s feelings were flowing into him through The Eye, ripping through his mind. His grip on Martin became painful and his head fell against Martin’s shoulder as he sobbed.

Tears flowed freely down his face and his shoulders shook violently with his labored breaths.

“I don’t deserve this, Martin,” Jon’s eyes shone, green and lit by power, tears making the piercing color sharper, “I can feel your love, Martin. I know. I know.”

“Jon please,” Martin placed his hands on Jon’s shoulders, hoping to grab his attention away from what he was seeing, “Jon please,” he placed the pads of his thumbs over glowing eyes, guiding the lids down.

“Please what Martin? I can’t stop it. I don't...” another sob wracked his body and he pressed his forehead against martins, looking at him with glowing eyes.

I don’t think I want to.

The love was overwhelming and Jon never wanted it to leave. It felt like a hug after years of being alone. It felt like two strangers’ fingers brushing together and neither of them moving to pull them apart. It felt like three years of yearning, three years of one sided glances and shitty poetry recorded in endless tunnels. It felt like hot tea on a long night, like falling asleep with fingers running through your hair.

It felt like the possibility of a future, of an _after this what will we do?_

And Jon wept and Martin kept holding him.


End file.
